San José del Pacífico

Five Days in San José del Pacífico was a trip!

We left Oaxaca that morning in a van Jim had booked online. Our destination: San José del Pacífico, where we planned to spend five days before continuing on to Zipolite for a month of relaxation. I hadn’t even heard of San José until we began planning the trip, but it turned out to be the perfect midway stop to break up the winding, five hour mountain drive.

San José del Pacífico is a small mountain town perched in the clouds. A single two-lane highway runs through it, but if you look closely, side paths disappear into the mist, leading to hidden homes, hostels, and cabins tucked deep into the forest. Backpackers drift through, drawn by its reputation for decades, this little community has been known for its mushroom tea.

And that was the real reason I wanted to stop there....To continue reading click for the paid version......just kidding. But no judeyjudgertons.

Growing up, mushrooms were offered to me more times than I can count. Friends experimented, but I always refused. Part of me was afraid my parents would find out and kill me (they always did seem to know everything). The other part was convinced I’d die from some freak allergic reaction. Both fears were planted by my upbringing. So when I shared this with Jim, he reminded me that I didn’t have to come all the way to Mexico for the experience. But for me, this felt like the safest place. Remote. Intentional. And, most importantly, no one would ever know. Well, until now.

The van ride up was brutal switchback after switchback. I usually don’t get carsick, but this one had me clutching a barf bag. When we finally arrived mid-afternoon, I was so grateful to step onto solid ground.

Our Airbnb cabin sat about a ten-minute walk uphill from town. It was rustic and cozy, tucked in the woods, with big wool blankets stacked on the bed.

That first day we wandered back into town, packs left behind, and settled at Café Pacífico. Sitting outside, we watched clouds tumble fast across the sky, it felt like the whole world was breathing. The famous mushroom tea wasn’t on the menu, and I was too nervous to ask outright. Instead, we ordered snacks and lemonade (no alcohol; I had researched and knew alcohol and mushrooms were a bad mix).

When the waiter returned with our bill, Jim casually asked for two té de hongo, to go. The waiter smiled knowingly and gave us quiet instructions on how to enjoy them. Our snacks and drinks cost 170 pesos (about $13), but the tea was 1000 pesos, $50 for two cups of magic mushroom tea. We carried it back like kids sneaking contraband, giggling at our own secret.

I was nervous as I sipped the nasty tasting tea and finally had to just down it. My heart pounded in my ears, and I kept picturing the bad trip I witnessed someone I love experience. Jim suggested we lie down, breathe deeply, and relax. I clutched his hand, staring at the knotted wood ceiling, waiting.

After about 30 minutes, it began. A faint ringing, my stomach flipping. The knots in the ceiling shifted and danced. When I lifted my hand to point it out, I froze, my veins pulsed visibly under my skin, red and blue rivers of blood pumping through my fingers. At first, it terrified me. But soon I was mesmerized.

Colors bloomed. Shapes breathed. Jim’s face shifted too, one moment grey and hollow, the next alive with rippling scales, radiant violets, yellows, and purples. A circle with wings on his back and an iron mask appeared on his forehead. He couldn’t sit still, but each time I caught his face, it transformed. At one point I begged him to hold still, just so I could watch him. My first trip was magical, strange, and full of wonder.

The next day, we explored the town. Side trails led us to a hippie hostel perched on a hill, where we ate before heading back. On the way, a young boy coaxed us over to see what he was selling. Trinkets, mostly, until he offered mushrooms, not in tea, but laid out on leaves. Two leaves for $20. Compared to the $50 tea, I couldn’t resist. Jim, with his “back in the day” mushroom Kool-Aid experience, promised he could make it work. I handed the kid the cash, and we headed back to our foggy cabin.

Waiting for us was a small bundle of firewood. Jim built a fire and started the tea. Just as I finished a calming cup, a faint Wi-Fi signal brought through a text from my dad. The news was heavy…gutting. I called him, but the signal kept cutting out. His voice, broken into fragments, still pierced me. By the time I hung up, my heart ached. And then the tea began to hit...

This trip was nothing like the first. Instead of colors and visions, a crushing sadness consumed me. My body curled in on itself; I couldn’t sit upright. Even lifting my hand felt impossible. Jim sketched quietly while I lay cocooned in despair. When I tried to move toward him, even tiptoeing was unbearable. My body weighed a thousand pounds. He urged me to change clothes, to brighten, to dance, I tried, but I broke down sobbing. I couldn’t.

Finally, I sat by the fire. Staring into the flames, I began to breathe, to meditate in a way I never had before. Normally, my mind runs too fast to sit still, but there with the fire as my anchor, sank in. I breathed, slowly, deeper. My journal lay open, and words poured out in the raw. Feelings that had been locked away spilled onto the page. No colors, no fractals this time. Just truth. From that came a poem. Painful, heavy, real.

This experience taught me mushrooms aren’t just for magic or wonder. They can hold grief, too. They can strip you down to what hurts. My five days in San José del Pacífico gave me both: laughter and tears, wonder and weight. Two sides of the same coin, two sides of myself.

As I reread and edit this story four years later, I can smile at the memory with gratitude instead of fear; happiness instead of pain. That experience gave me a glimpse of how powerful my mind can be. I’m thankful, too, that Jim and I have since left cigarettes behind, another layer of growth I’m proud of. And I still keep that poem, a reminder of my one and only mushroom journey, and of the strange, profound power those little fungi carry. Oh and don't tell my dad!